


Go Beside You

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post canon, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, parent Zimbits, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kent Parson knows what he is, and he's fairly sure he knows what he's worth.  It just seems like everyone else is determined for him to change his mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am Patater trash. I don't know how this happened. All I know is that one of the best things that ever happened to Kent Parson is Alexei Mashkov.

He paced the hospital corridor for at least twenty minutes, feeling like a fucking tool with a giant pink stuffed bunny shoved under one arm, and some balloons and shit because frankly he has no idea what to even get new parents and this situation is kind of weird. I mean, when his sister had a baby he got a stuffed duck and a bottle of rum, “For when the thing isn’t sucking out your human milk,” because he was trying to be an asshole. He also got her some ice packs because he heard that shoving a baby out hurt for weeks and his sister had put up with a lot of crap over the years so it was the least he could do.

But he was going into the room just for the baby, because the surrogate mother had already left the hospital and the baby—who’d come out c-section, had to stay for a few days. And what the hell did you get a thing that couldn’t do more than shit and cry and eat?

And really, he knew it was a little more than that. Because he loved being an uncle and he knew his sister was going to be really good at the parent thing. But babies were kind of an abstract concept. Kent liked the kids he coached during the pee-wee camps and everything, but they could talk and feed themselves and be reasoned with.

This was an infant.

And holy fucking shit this wasn’t just an infant. This was Zimm’s baby. This was…Jesus this was Zimm’s married and happy and starting a goddamn family.

He knew it was kind of weird the moment he hopped the plane, like he’d do anything other than fly across the country to meet the pinched-faced baby. And okay he did send a few chirps because they’d used Zimm’s dna for the kid and he’d seen Jack’s baby pictures plenty.

But oddly he was excited, and maybe a little sad because once upon a time this was everything he had let himself think about in the quiet of their shared hotel rooms back in the Q on roadies when he thought maybe it would all work out, and maybe Jack would love him back, and maybe it wouldn’t end in flames.

It had, though. And the going had been rough, but Jack was happy and Kent knew he’d stopped being in love with him a long time ago. Maybe it was just the idea that everyone was growing up and Kent was still in his ridiculously gauche apartment in Vegas with his too-big salary and his spoilt cat and literally nothing else to show for himself. Couple of Stanley Cups, yeah okay. Those were great.

But sitting by yourself eating fucking fruit loops out of your trophy sort of lacked some appeal when you could have this.

He thought about the wedding band on Zimm’s finger, and the matching one on Bittle’s, and it hurt a little.

With a breath, he told himself he wasn’t a fucking coward and he’d come all this way, and paid way too much at the hospital gift shop for all this crap. So he squared his shoulders and straightened his snapback, and prepared a few chirps before heading down the corridor to the room.

He wore a tiny, stick-on badge with the name Zimmermann-Bittle on it, and the room number, and it looked tacky as hell against his overly expensive plaid shirt. But he felt like he had some purpose being here, and that’s what moved his hand to touch the door knob and push it open.

Kent froze at the sound of voices. Gentle laughter, definitely more than just Jack and Eric behind the drawn curtain in front of the door. But he’d been invited, so…he didn’t expect a warm welcome, but not a hostile one either.

He reached to push the fabric aside, and stepped into the room, and promptly froze. His brain kind of took everything in all at once—a handful of Falconers, a hospital plastic cot which was empty because the one holding the baby was the massive, somewhat terrifying Alexei Mashkov who was rocking the new Zimbits baby back and forth with the softest expression Kent had ever seen on a grown human.

But it didn’t stop the memory of his one interaction with that giant Russian which happened to be the man threatening to beat him senseless on the ice. After that, Kent had given Mashkov wide berth—even in future games when they played.

He half wondered if maybe Mashkov intended to make good on those threats now. He had no doubt the man could stomp him into oblivion whilst holding a sleeping baby.

But Mashkov’s face brightened and he said, “Parse! You come join us for baby party. Look how cute!” He turned then, displaying the six pound, seven ounces of Zimmermann and Bittle which was really nothing more than a pinched face and shock of black hair burritoed up in a blue and pink striped blanket.

“Erm.” Kent said.

Jack reached him first, tugging him into a hug as Eric took the bunny and balloons out of his hand to set them with the rest of the crap—and apparently people had the same idea as him which made him annoyed he hadn’t at least tried to be unique about it.

“I’m glad you made it,” Jack said softly into the embrace.

Kent softened and hugged back. “Yeah, man. You think I wouldn’t be here for the birth of your kid?”

Jack laughed, then stepped back and suddenly Kent was drawn into a hug full of Georgia Southern Sunshine. He smelt of pie spices and something soft and flowery, and it was the first time Kent was hugging him ever, but he had to admit he could see why Jack loved him so much. The fucker was cute.

He took a breath, then stepped back and went to draw a hand through his hair, forgetting about his damn hat until it hit the ground. He moved to pick it up, but his action was aborted by a giant body and small baby being thrust at him.

“You hold. Baby Zimmboni can know uncle Kenny, yes?”

Kent’s face went red, but luckily he’d been through this song and dance before with his nephew. I mean, it had been a few years, but it was like riding a bike and he tucked the small infant into the crook of his arm and adjusted his hold so the thing was snug against his chest. He looked down into the small, sleeping face and couldn’t help a smile which he knew he’d be chirped for life about—but what did he care.

“What’d you decide to name her?”

“Aurelie,” Jack said.

Kent raised a brow. That had been Jack’s favourite grandmother’s name. He’d been there when his dad called to let Jack know she’d passed. Yet another tick in the column of too much shit Kent Parson knew about Jack Zimmermann.

“Nice,” was what he said instead of all that. He startled a second later when a giant hand shoved his hat back on his head. The fingers were surprisingly gentle as Mashkov adjusted it.

“Good as new,” he murmured.

Kent flushed again. Jesus. “Thanks,” he said.

Mashkov laughed and dropped a hand on his shoulder for a minute. Kent thought maybe he’d leave, since the other guys were now saying their goodbyes to Eric and Jack, but instead he went over to a hideously green, pleather sofa, and dropped down onto it.

“So, what we do for baby? Party when she come home, yes?”

Eric smacked Mashkov on the arm. “If you think I’m going to have y’all barging round my house with a newborn in it, you’ve got another thing comin’. We’ll do a proper welcoming once she’s settled.”

Mashkov, who had actually started to pout, brightened. “I cook something. My mama, she send me good recipe to share. We all bring something. What is called…bringing food?”

“Potluck,” Kent murmured.

Mashkov beamed at him and Kent felt his heart stutter. Who the fuck was this guy, anyway? He was a beast on the ice and now he’s planning a potluck baby shower? “Yes, you tell me when, I send invites. New parents not worry about party set up. Parson can help.”

Kent’s gaze snapped up. “Dude…I don’t even live here.”

“But you fly back. Not miss niece’s party,” Mashkov insisted.

Jack looked like he was seconds away from bursting into laughter, and Bittle was looking between him and Mashkov with a curious look in his eyes. Kent took a step toward the new parents and offered the baby out. “Here uhh…I don’t want to you know, take her from you.”

Bittle laughed, but cradled the baby to his chest. “No one’s takin’ her. We get to take her home forever.”

Kent’s gaze snapped to Jack who had sucked in a breath at that, like maybe it was the first time he realised that it was his kid. That this was forever. Jesus, that was…heavy.

“I’m…I should go check into my hotel. When do you get to go home?”

“Tomorrow,” Eric said, easing the baby back into the cot. “So long as everything checks out. We’ll be here tonight though, if you want to drop by again.”

Kent rubbed the back of his neck, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I might. I’ll text you. Good job, you two. She’s beautiful.” It was all sort of cursory because Kent knew they knew she was beautiful and they knew they’d done a good job, but it was the thing to say.

Then he was hurrying out, and down the corridor, and down the lift, and into the lobby. He stopped just outside the doors, then walked a few hundred feet to where the smoking area was and laughed that hospitals even had one of those. But there was no one there, so he sank down onto one of the benches and took a few breaths.

He noticed the shadow approaching before the voice, and there wasn’t really any part of him that was surprised. “You run like bat out of hell. Not like babies?”

Kent’s eyes raised slowly. “Nah, man. Kids are great. It was…just a lot.”

Mashkov nodded slowly. “Long history, you and Zimmboni. I know some. Not easy.”

Kent let out a somewhat wet laugh and shook his head. “No. I mean it’s alright, we’re cool now. He’s happy and that’s great. Really great. It’s just…you know. Weird. He’s married, got a kid now. Last time I really knew him he was the kid huddling in his bed having his big gay panic. Now he’s like the LGBT spokesperson of the fucking NHL.”

Mashkov tilted his head to the side. “You come out. See video. Very…interesting. Funny. You support LGBT.”

“Well yeah,” Kent said. “Seemed easier. Figured all that shit between Jack and me was gonna come out eventually and made more sense that I get the first word in.”

Mashkov nodded. “Come. We get beer and sandwiches.”

Kent blinked at him. “Erm.”

“Come,” he said, his voice more persistent. “You need friend, and I need food. I know good place, good sandwiches, local beer. Very good, know me there. I get discount.” He winked at Kent like they didn’t have ridiculous NHL salaries and it might make a difference.

And fuck if he knew why, but Kent found himself rising and following this giant, lumbering Russian man to—of all fucking things, a bright blue pick-up truck—and getting in. When he switched on the truck, bright pop music came blaring out of the speakers, and Kent looked at him with a raised brow.

“Bittle?”

Mashkov threw his head back and laughed as he took a turn a little too sharply, making Kent cling to the side of the door. “He make it personal mission to learn all good songs. Says Zimbonni have bad taste in music.”

Kent snorted. “Yeah, that’s not a lie.” He fell into silence, his knee kind of moving up and down to the beat, and before long they were pulling up to a quaint looking little seaside café with a giant, blue fish painted on a wooden sign out front.

Mashkov took up two parking spaces, unapologetic about it, as he got out, and clicked the lock as soon as Kent closed his door. Mashkov walked close—it would have been too close for comfort on most days but Kent found himself more fascinated by his size than intimidated.

His smile was soft, and he spoke in low tones to the hostess who recognised him and gave them his usual table. It was upstairs on a balcony, a window seat in a nearly empty dining room. He was immediately given a drink, something amber coloured over a giant ball of ice, and Kent just said, “Yeah one of those is fine.”

Mashkov smiled at him. “You fly long way from Vegas. Is long flight. You have hotel already?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah, the usual spot when we play here,” he replied absently. The drink was plonked down in front of him, and before he could even think about ordering, Mashkov took over. Lobster rolls, and clam chowder. Kent didn’t really care at the moment, some food and maybe a long nap was all he really wanted.

That, and maybe for Mashkov to keep talking because his voice was soothing in a way Kent hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe it was the accent. Maybe Jack fucked him up in the past, because he could remember wanting to listen to his lilt for hours on end.

“You usually more happy than this,” Mashkov said, interrupting Kent’s thoughts. “Is baby upsetting?”

Kent shook his head. “Really man, I meant what I said. I’m happy for them. It’s just…” he let out a tense laugh, then downed the rest of his whiskey, swiping his hand across his mouth. “Feels fucked up. Jack’s married with a kid, cup under his belt, kind of…doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re pushing thirty. And I’ve got…a cat and an apartment, and a semi-successful twitter account.”

Mashkov laughed. “Is good twitter. I follow.”

Kent blinked. “What?”

“I follow,” he repeated. “I follow since playoffs. I like posts about cat and games and funny blogs.”

Kent shouldn’t be surprised he never noticed. I mean, he has over a million followers and notifications get lost. He’s got a PR assistant who helps him manage his feed some days, but mostly he just lets it be. He follows a handful of the more active players, but he never noticed Alexei. “Sorry Mashkov,” he muttered.

“Alexei,” he corrected, and Kent’s head snapped up. “Is my name, Alexei. Or Tater, is what boys call me. Little potato.”

Kent couldn’t help a laugh, trying to hide it, but tears of mirth sprang into his eyes and a minute later they were both chuckling at it. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is cute,” Alexei defended. “I am little potato in big body.”

Kent snickered again, rolling his eyes, but the food arrived shortly after and they fell into a silence as they ate. It was good. Some of the best Kent had had around these parts, and it wasn’t often that food could shut him up like this, but it was comfortable trading almost shy smiles across the table as they devoured their plates.

When they were done, Alexei sat back and gave his flat stomach a rub. “We are not telling Clare about this, yes?” When Kent raised a brow, Alexei said, “Nutritionist. Already she chirps me for Bitty’s pies, but how can one man resist such good pies?”

Kent wanted to argue, but it would be useless because Bitty’s pies were fucking great and it was always a good day when he came home to an overnighted package with maple peach crumble. The little fucker always knew how to cheer him up. “My lips are sealed,” he said.

Mashkov winked at him then, and Kent almost swallowed his own tongue. “Good. We friends then. Circle of trust. Come, you have car at hospital?”

“Took a cab,” Kent muttered as Mashkov dropped a wad of bills which included the meal and a massive tip, onto the table.

“I take you then. Maybe come back, pick you up for dinner. We see baby.” He looked so happy at the prospect, Kent found himself completely unable to say no.

*** 

Alexei arrived at the hotel promptly at five, which would give them a little while to visit with Jack and Eric before heading off to dinner. It felt weird—Kent didn’t even really know Mashkov and up to this point was fairly sure the guy would sooner beat his face in than give him the time of day.

But his smile seemed genuine, he laughed at Kent’s dry humour, and kept trying to make him smile. It was…disarming, which bothered him, and he ended up blurting it out on the drive over. “I thought you hated me.”

Alexei’s gaze snapped over. “Why you think that, Parse? Do I seem hateful guy?”

Kent shrugged. “Well I mean…on the ice…”

“On the ice different,” he said, waving his hand. “We want to win, we want game to be best game. We get angry. Not same off ice.”

“I guess not,” Kent said quietly. “I uhhh, I mean. Well you weren’t exactly happy with me a few seasons back.”

“You rush goalie,” Alexei said mildly, one shoulder shrugging. “Snowy good player, my job to protect him. Was bad move.”

“I know,” Kent breathed.

“Jack say it was your first time on ice in many years. Says you are good guy. I trust Zimbonni. If he say good guy, then you’re good guy.” He offered a slight smile, hesitant. “Sorry if I scare you.”

Kent couldn’t help a small chuckle. “You’re kind of a scary guy, man. I mean…you’re half frost giant, right?”

“I am fuzzy Asgardian, very friendly. Fight for good guys.”

Kent snorted that he got the reference. “Yeah you seem alright. I…thanks for all this. I’m not even sure I could deal you know…being here on my own.”

“I think we get along. Compatible.” There was something in his tone, something Kent was trying to read, but not quite able to get there. And maybe it was the fact that he always denied himself, believed he didn’t deserve all this happily ever after shit, which was keeping him from reading Alexei’s intentions.

But they fell into silence as they got to the hospital. Jack texted, saying Bitty was arranging dinner in the café downstairs, so Alexei went to see if he needed help, and Kent headed up to the baby’s room. Jack was there, curled up on the ugly little sofa with Aurelie asleep on his chest, and it made Kent ache behind his ribs.

Jack smiled at him, looking exhausted but happier than Kent had ever seen him. “Hey Kenny. You want to hold her?”

“Nah, she looks good there.” He sat close though, reaching over to draw his fingers along her baby-fine, dark hair. “Looks like you. The good you, not the ugly baby you.”

“Mange d’la marde,” Jack muttered.

Kent laughed. “Really though, fatherhood looks good on you. How uhhh…how does it feel?”

Jack looked down at the small bundle which was currently suckling on her curled fist, and sighed. “Terrifying. Wonderful, but terrifying. I…keep thinking about what it was like for me. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. It…you know, her coming from me. I was such a mess.”

“Jack,” Kent breathed, shaking his head. “You’re going to do this right. You and Bits, man. The pair of you are going to be so good at this.”

Jack sighed, pushing his nose against the top of his daughter’s head. “Yeah?”

“Trust me,” Kent said, leaning back and putting one arm behind his head. “I always knew you’d get here.”

Jack looked at him, soft eyes so blue. “What about you, eh? Tell me you don’t plan on keeping it you and Kit forever.”

Kent laughed, but it was tense, and yet even as he prepared a chirp back, his head was filled with the soft brown eyes and quiet Russian lilt. His stomach squirmed. “Maybe not. I think…I could settle down. If I found someone worth it. Hockey isn’t going to last forever.”

“No,” Jack said. He pursed his lips and then said, “So Tater. Not a bad guy, eh?”

“Subtle,” Kent said dryly. “And no, he’s not. But uh…what…what’s his deal? Is he, you know?”

Jack shrugged. “He doesn’t date a lot. People don’t really get him. He’s a good guy, and I’m pretty sure he likes you.”

Kent felt his cheeks heat up. “Picture that, would you? Me getting off with a fucking Falconer.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “He’d be good for you. You’d be good for him.”

“Ahh Zimms,” Kent said, feeling his throat go tight. “You know I wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

Jack looked pained, shaking his head. “You’re better than you think you are.” The baby began to fuss then, so Jack rose and began to rock her as he fumbled for a bottle. He took the plush rocking chair after that, cradling his daughter and singing something very soft, the words curving round the French Kent used to love to hear so much.

It was a sight. It was enough to make him want to fall on his knees and weep because Jesus Christ he wanted it. But it seemed something way too far out of his grasp.

His melancholy was interrupted by the arrival of Eric and Alexei, and soon enough the conversation turned light. Chirping at each other, cooing at the baby, Alexei and Kent stealing a few bites of brownie before their dinner.

Eventually they left the couple to it, hugs all around and a promise to see them soon. Alexei walked close to Kent as they made their way to the lifts, then back out to the truck. Kent was uncharacteristically quiet again, but this time Alexei didn’t try and draw him into conversation. He just drove to the restaurant, an intimate venue, again near the shore. They were recognised by a few people, putting on their PR smiles and signing a few autographs before they got to their table.

It was part way through the starters when Kent looked up, then said, “You want kids?”

Alexei blinked over the baked brie, a cracker halfway to his mouth. “Yes. I think I would like to be papa some day. Think I might like big family. Many children. You thinking of baby? You want baby of your own?”

Kent shrugged. “I mean…it looks nice. Zimms looks happy. I probably shouldn’t, you know? Probably fuck that kid up six ways to Sunday.”

Kent startled when a warm hand settled over his, and a thumb brushed across his knuckles. “I think you too hard on yourself, Paroshka.”

Kent swallowed. “Trust me, I’m…”

“No,” Alexei said softly. “I trust me. I not trust you, you too hard on yourself. I meet you, I like you. I think you make good papa if that’s what you’re wanting.”

Kent wanted to pull away. He wanted to get up and walk away and not let himself be fucking vulnerable because the last time he’d done that, it ended up with his heart ripped out ten minutes before he had to get up and sign with the fucking Aces and leave Jack behind. And that wound healed, but it left behind a huge mess of scar tissue that still stung, even on the good days.

But another part of him wanted to turn his hand and press his own to Alexei’s palm to palm and hold on because he thought it might be nice and Alexei seemed to actually like him. And maybe a part of him was starting to believe—at least a little—that he could deserve good things. Or maybe just this one, small thing.

He didn’t have time to make the choice for himself. Maybe it was that Alexei felt him getting ready to bolt, because those massive fingers turned his hand and they slotted together with Kent’s like they had always meant to be that way. He didn’t do anything else besides look at him, his gaze soft and warm, and Kent wanted to lose himself forever in those brown eyes.

He swallowed, then offered a smile which he thought might actually be genuine for the first time since he got here. Alexei’s fingers tightened just a little, and he didn’t let go until their food arrived.

The conversation was easier after that, lighter. They ate, they ordered dessert, and Alexei let Kent pay. They had a coffee which was brought in paper take away cups, and Kent found himself taking a walk on the chilly beach. It was sandy, and grassy, and just shy of too cold for comfortable, but Kent pulled his sweater around him tighter and Alexei held his hand again, and he was soothed by the very gentle crash of the tide along the shore.

They rounded a corner where the main area disappeared, and there was a smattering of houses near a rocky, grassy cliff. “That is my house,” Alexei said softly, pointing to one on a lower ridge. There were carved steps out of the rocks leading up to a few back garden fences. “I buy it for nice view.”

Kent’s eyes widened. “Are you…are you serious? You live here?”

Alexei chuckled low in the back of his throat, and pulled Kent closer. “You like?”

“It’s fucking gorgeous,” Kent said, and the rest of his words got lost in his throat when Alexei put an arm round his waist.

“You want to come see? I have nice view from porch.” Without giving Kent time to answer, he pulled him toward the steps, and took out a small key he used to unlock a small deadbolt on the fence. It swung open with an obscene creaking sound, and Alexei put his hand at the small of Kent’s back, urging him up. The porch was large, wrap-around, with a cosy swing almost completely covered in pillows. “You sit,” Alexei said. “I be right back with provisions.”

Kent, feeling out of place and a little terrified of letting himself go, plopped down and sank into the soft cushion of the swing. It began to rock gently, and he found himself enraptured by the view. The cottage itself was modest. Couldn’t be more than two bedrooms, and from the window he could see it was sparsely decorated. It was very Alexei, and the fact that he could tell that made him feel oddly warm on the inside.

Alexei returned not long after, with a huge blanket, which he wrapped over Kent’s lap, then settled down. His long legs gave the swing a push, and he nestled in before pulling Kent close. 

“When I first come here,” he said after a while of silence, “I’m very scared. I know just little English, and they give me interpreter for practise when I get drafted by Falconers. But I’m not understanding guys. Snowy is best guy, buys very bad Russian-English dictionary. Worst pronunciation.”

Kent snorted. “I can imagine.”

“But he one of few who tries. Comes on weekends and we watch movies. I learn most English that way. We watch Mean Girls over and over.”

Kent can’t help but giggle, and he turned it into Alexei’s shoulder, burying his face there in the soft smell of him. “Oh god.”

“Is favourite, we watch it still on off season.” Alexei tightened his grip on Kent and leant his head against the top of Kent’s snapback. “Is different here. Is not crime to be who I am. Who…I am liking. Men,” he clarified when Kent said nothing. “Is getting worse in Russia, mama pushed for draft so I’m not getting into trouble. Safer for me here.”

Kent felt a cold shiver up his spine. “You know it’s not…always great here. I still get a lot of shit at games. Ugly signs. Some of the players are…” He trailed off.

“I know,” Alexei breathed. “I see it when Zimmboni tells about Bittle, and is frightening but not a crime. You understand difference?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah.”

Alexei carefully took the hat off, setting it to the side, and ran his fingers into Kent’s hair. “Is okay? I stop, whatever is not okay.”

Kent swallowed round the lump in his throat, and shifted even closer. “It’s good. We’re good.”

Alexei made a happy noise. “Sometimes I think I’m not finding happiness. My English is still bad, but I try my best. I play good Hockey but I don’t know a lot else. In Russia am playing Hockey and working in factory. And this is good, Falconers, or if maybe some day they trade me. But I retire like everyone. And then I have what?”

Kent laughed quietly, the sound strained as he fumbled between them for Alexei’s hand. Fuck it. Just fuck it. This feels too nice and he hasn’t had anything beyond casual hook-ups since Zimms and god damn if he doesn’t want something nice like this, even if it’s for a night. “I get it,” he murmured. “I went into the NHL at eighteen. I didn’t…I didn’t plan for anything else. And living in a fucking glass closet doesn’t leave you a lot of options when it comes to love.”

A gentle hand touched his chin, then turned his face up, and Alexei was looking at him with the softest expression. “You want fall in love, Paroshka?”

Kent shivered. “Sometimes. I’m not…I’m not good at it. Trust me, as Zimms. I’m the worst.”

Alexei’s thumb ran gentle along the cut of his jaw, and he smiled. “Zimmboni says you good guy. You best guy, and I trust him.”

Kent couldn’t help but laugh, even as he leant into Alexei’s hand. “Yeah, you said that.”

“I’m wanting kiss you,” Alexei said by way of answer.

Kent doesn’t have the words then, so instead he just acts. Surging up, their lips met, closed and soft and warm. Alexei made a noise in the back of his throat, strained like a groan as he cupped the back of Kent’s head and parted his lips. Tongues met, tangling just shy of desperate, and somehow Kent managed to manoeuvre into Alexei’s lap without breaking the damn swing.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

Alexei laughed. “Maybe not tonight. Maybe we take things slow, yes? Make it love, not…what we have before?”

Kent wants to cry out because he’s hard and he really wants Alexei, but…he wants this more. A promise of a future and something else. So he eases off, though Alexei keeps him close and they kiss a few more times as they watch the sky continue to darken until all that’s left is the half moon, and a sea of stars.

“You stay tonight,” Alexei murmured, drawing Kent inside where it’s warm and easy and smells just like him. “We cuddle. Then we talk.”

Kent agreed, letting Alexei pull him into the bedroom, and he’s fucking startled to see that it’s almost midnight. His everything aches with fatigue, and he stripped down to boxers after watching Alexei do the same thing. The bed is softer than Kent liked his normally, but Alexei’s arms were warm and pulling him close and the idea that there’s no expectation to perform and be good and Alexei still wants him is almost too much for him to bear.

But he pushed his cheek against Alexei’s chest and sighed with contentment. “I live really fucking far.”

Alexei laughed. “Yes, Paroshka. I know.”

Kent lifted his head. “What can I call you? I mean, you know. Alexei…Tater. What…what’s something just for me.”

Alexei cupped Kent’s cheek again, his head cocked adorably to the side. “Kotyonok. Means little kitten. For just you, yes?”

Kent tried it out with a laugh, fumbling over it and his accent was shit, but Alexei brightened so he decided it was good enough, and laid back down. “You really think this could work? Dating. I still have to kick your ass on the ice and everything.”

Alexei laughed, drawing his fingers gently up and down Kent’s naked back. “I think is fine. And we are kicking your ass this season.”

Kent laughed with him, shaking his head. “I won’t go easy on you.”

There’s a sudden silence, then fingers in his hair that are so soft it almost hurts. “I not want easy, Paroshka. Just this.”

Kent feels like he’s suffocating for a second, like it’s too much because when he lets himself want it always hurts. But Alexei’s arms are soft and grounding and fucking perfect. He didn’t respond beyond pressing a kiss to Alexei’s ribs, and before long, they both dropped off to sleep.

*** 

**Epilogue**

Kent storms into the locker room, not sure if he’s pissed or not. The game sucked, but the Falconers worked hard for it. Zimm’s and his fucking hat trick which cinched the victory and it wasn’t the end, but Kent wasn’t exactly pleased about it.

The guys were giving him space, which he needed as he scrubbed off and grabbed his clothes out of his bag. He struggled into his jeans before reaching into the pocket, then slipped an innocuous, platinum band onto his finger. It wasn’t easy having your husband kick your ass all over the ice, but it was surprisingly easy to be proud of him for it.

The locker room was empty soon after, and then a larger figure appeared in the door and Kent felt himself brighten in spite of his epic failure. He stood as warm arms wrapped round him, and soft lips found his favourite spot just under his ear.

“Good game, luybov moya,” he muttered into Kent’s still wet hair.

Kent laughed, pulling back. “I should be saying that to you.”

Alexei shrugged, kissing him, drawing it out and out until Kent’s toes curled and all he wanted was to get out of there. “I have the week. Or until Thursday. Told coach I was cashing in some time, so long as you assholes let me play.”

“So long as you play nicely,” Alexei said, drawing his thumb across Kent’s bottom lip.

He pouted. “I always play nicely.”

“Such lies, out of this mouth,” Alexei said, then kissed him before stepping back. “Come, I have dinner at home. Then tomorrow we take little Zimmboni out for day at the beach.”

Kent rolled his eyes, but the contentment in his bones was settled and firm. He was happy. He was in love. And for the first time, he really believed he deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr, [omgittybits](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgittybits)


End file.
